


arrogance & disdain (or the endless saga of jon snow not having proper social skills)

by luminosa



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Humor, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hardcore, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Miscommunication, References to Jane Austen, Slow Burn, also theonrobb!!!, based on the movie and book Austenland
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-01-20 17:05:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18529390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminosa/pseuds/luminosa
Summary: Finding true love has been hard for Sansa Stark. Not only her past ex-boyfriends have all turned out to be major assholes, but she also has a (frankly unhealthy) obsession with Mr. Darcy from Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. When the opportunity to turn fantasy into reality presents itself to her in the shape of Austenland - a Jane Austen themed resort - she takes it without second thought. However, sometimes fantasy can be just as bad as reality... mostly because of the ever annoying presence of Lord Jon Snow.orthe one where sansa desperately tries to find her happy ending and jon is absolutely useless. plus arya ends up befriending the guy who cleans the stables and brienne breaks someone's nose (accidentaly). Austenland (2013) AU babey





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pride & prejudice.... but make it dumb and mordern  
> this is based on the book! not just the movie!  
> [english is not my first language. if you guys see any mistakes, please let me know]

_PROLOGUE:_

_two hundred thousand dolars_

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in her twenty-somethings in possession of a decently sized amount of money must be in want of a husband. That was the case of the very single, very lovely daughter of Lord Ned Stark, owner of a small lobster restaurant that had three customers per day and Lady Catelyn Tully Stark, stay at home badass; sister to the ever so gallant Sir Robb Stark, husband to asshole (Arya’s words) Theon Greyjoy, conspiracy theory master Bran Stark, grumpy Lady ( _Knight! Make me a knight_!) Arya Stark, and feral hormonal teenager Rickon Stark.

Sansa had a pretty decent job writing articles about DIYs and Kylie Jenner makeup looks at an online magazine called the Vale; very long and gorgeous long red hair and beautiful blue eyes to accompany it. Many would call her a beauty, a vision in the cold winters of the North, and a kind soul. But Sansa had a secret.

Sometimes, when she came back home on a particularly cold night (or hot. Or when it rained. Or when the weather wasn’t even on her mind), she’d lay down on the sofa, dim the lights on her apartment, make some popcorn, and re-watch the 2005 adaptation of Pride & Prejudice, the blue ray director’s cut version. Some it would be the 1995’s BBC special (extended edition only). Honestly, it depended on which Darcy she wanted to dream with that night. And by sometimes, we are talking about everyday.

Sansa was about eleven years old when she first saw the Pride and Prejudice movie, the one with Kiera Knightly, and at that moment, as he professed his love for her in the falling, thunderous rain, she had fallen in love with Mister Darcy.

When Sansa turned thirteen, she had memorized the first three chapters of Pride and Prejudice and proceeded to recite them to her entire family during dinner (which resulted in Arya throwing her peas at her for boring everyone). On her fourteenth birthday, she had asked for her family to buy her a real life-size cardboard figure of Mister Darcy to hang in her room. Catelyn refused profusely but Ned had a hard time saying no to his little girl, and by the time she turned fifteen he had given in.

By then, her entire room was filled with lace, corsets, pictures of Colin Firth and Matthew Macfayden (Colin was more handsome, in her humble opinion – but Matthew held her heart all the same), and books and more books of Jane Austen. She made a record for dressing up as Elizabeth Bennet every Halloween, which was always a funny sight next to Arya, who always found a way to make a costume bloody, and Bran, who liked dressing up as aliens or Stephen Hawkins.

(Rickon would refuse to dress up for Halloween. He already called his skin his “costume”. He got sent to therapy for that – but hey, better him than Sansa, right?)

Of course, her… hobby didn’t grant her many friends over the course of her life. There was Arya, who despite acting like she hated her, always had her back and of course the rest of her siblings as well, but still, not many people took a liking to her. She made a funny sight for a lot of people during middle school and hugh school, with her braces and red ponytail and her “I LOVE Mr. Dracy” pins. Watching men in tight breeches really did something to her hormones, back then… and maybe when she stopped being a teenager too. It was embarrassing. She really didn’t want to talk about it. Let’s move on.

Most of her family thought she was insane, of course. It was a quiet kind of worry, one that ate away at them all in silence, but she knew. Every time she turned on the TV, she just knew her mother was whispering to her father, Robb watching over her shoulder… But the worst one was Aunt Lysa.

Her Aunt Lysa was very, very rich, and she took a liking to Sansa because of her sweetness and because she wouldn’t interrupt her to talk about lizards every time she opened her mouth (ahem, Rickon). She favored her and Robb (she said Arya had lice, and Bran always had his nose on some book or the other and that seemed to piss her off) so she was quite kind to both of them, which was odd according to her mother because she was always quite the bitch. But she worried for her mostly, as she didn’t understand her fixation with Jane Austen or any of the Mr. Darcys, and she voiced her concerns on her never finding a man because of this.

Which was very 20th century, mind you, and Sansa knew this. Aunt Lysa was most probably insane. She had breastfed her cousin Robyn until he turned six. When her husband (who she never truly loved) died she almost showed up naked to his funeral.  But she gave her candy and money, so she showered her in sugarcoated words.

“I don’t understand your fixation with this man…” She had said one day, inspecting her _I’m waiting for my Mr. Darcy_  with pictures of Matthew Macfayden shaped in hearts bag (Yes, not her proudest moment. It wasn’t even her favorite bag).

Sansa frowned, placing her teacup down. “Have you seen the movie, Aunt Lysa?”

“I’ve seen the Colin Firth version,” She nodded. “He is quite handsome.”

“Very,” Sansa nodded enthusiastically, excited to be able to chat with someone about it. Sure, her fanfiction readers were great, but it wasn’t the same as talking about it with someone she could actually see, you know? “His and Elizabeth’s love story is not only amazing political commentary of the time but it’s also the greatest love story of all time.”

“Oh, Sansa,” Her Aunt cooed. “You have so much to learn about life. There are no Colin Firths’ out there. Only Wickhams, maybe.”

Aunt Lysa had died a couple of years later, and the family was still mourning her loss (even if she did call Catelyn a whore every time she saw her, and she had once called Rickon a savage and Arya a Chihuahua, she was still family, and family meant a lot to the Starks). She had left a ton of money behind in her will to her only son Robyn, and she knew she had left something for Sansa there – something along the lines of “to help my niece cure her Darcy addiction”. The wound of her death was recent, so she hadn’t actually thought about it much.

Also – about the Wickham comment? She wasn’t wrong. Sansa had run into too many Wickhams in her lifetime, and probably no Darcys. As time went on, she grew out of her awkward teenager phase and became a beautiful young woman; which takes us to asshole ex-boyfriend number one: Joffrey Baratheon.

Sansa met Joffrey in college, where he was fairly popular for being rich and an asshole. Which meant he was Sansa’s type – maybe, just maybe, beneath it all, laid a sweet guy who was just really bad at talking to people. And at first she had been convinced that he was her Mr. Darcy; he was sweet, he gifted her flowers and chocolates and soon enough they were dating.

Which turned out to be a mistake.

Underneath the asshole act… there was – drum roll, please? More asshole. Soon enough the flowers turned to yelling, the chocolates to pushing and she finally had to put a restraining order on the guy because he wouldn’t let her break it off. It was scary, but it had been a learning experience: don’t try to fix assholes. Duly noted.

Luckily, in the meantime, she had met Brienne of Tarth, a girl tall as a tree (which was a lot coming from Sansa, because Sansa was quite tall herself) and with big, beautiful blue eyes. Most didn’t notice that. Brienne wasn’t a looker, with her crooked nose and heavy steps, but she was prettier than most to Sansa because she was always there for others. When she had first seen Sansa’s bruises, she hugged her for half an hour until Sansa decided it was time to break it off with Joffrey. Brienne was kind of the best.

Asshole boyfriend number two she had met at a club and had only lasted three weeks before he had gone to jail. He hadn’t actually managed to do anything to her during those few times they spent together, but Ramsay Bolton was a delicate subject all the same. In summary: fuck the guy.

After that, Sansa didn’t really want to start dating again. Romance proved itself to be a never-ending failure time and time again, and she kept coming back to Mr. Darcy every time. Could she ever find a love story like Elizabeth Bennet? Was she the Elizabeth Bennet of her story, anyway? Maybe she was the craven Mary Bennet, or the lonely Kitty Bennet. Maybe she’d have to settle for a Mr. Collins.

She had barely gone on another date after that, and it had been with a coworker and it ended with him trying to kiss her and she (naturally, like a completely normal, functioning member of society) had slapped him on instinct, and the next day he got promoted so she took orders from him now.  Which was great.

Petyr Baelish was an asshole. He could almost count as asshole boyfriend number three at that point. He ordered her around all the time, and she could feel his stare on her neck or her butt whenever he thought she wasn’t looking, and honestly if he weren’t her boss? She’d call Robb and Arya on him and be done with it for once and for all. But he was the chief editor now, so that meant he could basically get away with anything that wasn’t actual physical sexual harassment.

So every now and then he’d ask her out for coffee, never mind last time she had actually _punched him in the face_  because he was a really perseverative dude; an admirable trait for a gentleman were he not so fucking annoying.

As she tried to type her article on the latest celebrity feud (God… a whole degree on journalism and for what? To write about the latest Justin Bieber tweet via cat gifs that she had to specify weren’t even hers? She could do that on her Tumblr _ladydarcyqueen_ blog just as well), Baelish leaned across her stall, staring at her like she was a meal and it was lunch break.

Petyr was known around the office as Littlefinger because he was short, so where his fingers and no one actually liked him, so they all collectively decided to call him that. People would make jokes about him all the time, and it was hard for Sansa not to call him that to his face sometimes. When he turned around she’d flip him off quickly, you know, like Arya would do, because he made her so mad sometimes she wished she was Arya to have the strength to choke the bastard.

Sansa sighed, knowing she was being watched, and she stopped typing to stare at Petyr as well.

“Mr. Baelish,” She said, nodding. “Do you need anything?”

He just smiled. “I just wanted to look at you.”

 _Creep_. She bit her lip to stop her sigh.

“Mr. Baelish – ” she began, but he cut her off with a rise of his hand.

“When will you accept my offer, Sansa?” He pondered loudly, walking towards her. It was impossible he hadn’t noticed how tense she was right then and there.

“Wh – what offer, Mr. Baelish –  ?” she knew playing dumb with Littlefinger wouldn’t do, but still. It was better than answering his very uncomfortable questions sometimes.

“You know what I’m talking about,” He interrupted, he pointed to her framed pictures of Darcy and whatever Pride and Prejudice things she could fit in the walls of her stall. “About taking you out – on a real date, one that doesn’t end up in physical assault.”

 _I doubt that_. She needed to be firm with him. Sighing, she stood up of her chair, to level with him at least.

“Petyr, I have told you time and time again, I don’t want to date – ”

“Your time is running out,” Petyr shrugged, and Sansa didn’t even have time to _say I beg our pardon_ before he continued. “You’re twenty… five? Right? If you don’t find love now, I doubt you ever will.”

Sansa’s mouth dropped open, but she somehow managed to speak. “I’m sorry?”

“Time is precious, Sansa, and your biological clock is ticking – ”

Petyr did not have time to finish his sentence before she had lifted her leg and landed a blow on his testicles.

Sansa watched in sweet, sweet satisfaction as Littlefinger dropped to the floor with a loud thud and grunt in agony; soon enough the entire office gathered around the commotion, while he screeched on the floor in pain, covering his groin with his hand as he trembled and mumbled.

“I quit,” She spat at his figure, and ran away as far as her little kitten heels took her, not looking back until she had left the building entirely, ignoring the stares and confused looks the people of the building sent her way. She only caught her breath when she was outside, the sun shining in her face, and even then the only thing that was in her mind as she swiped the sweat off her brow was _fuck_ Petyr Baelish.

Hysteria had bubbled up in her chest, and suddenly she was giggling. _Fuck this job_ , she thought, and her giggles shook her body _, fuck the Vale magazine._  And that was really, really funny for some reason because her giggles broke into a laugh.

The people on the street were watching now, but she didn’t care. She had quit her job, she had kicked her boss in the nuts –

Wait. She quit.

She quit her job.

Fuck! She kicked her boss in the nuts!

Okay, Sansa had clearly not thought this through. Her laugh stopped at once, and worry settled on her features instead. Gods! She had a dog to feed! And her apartment wasn’t exactly cheap, and she had that damned wall she needed to fix because Rickon and Arya had broken it when they were wrestling in her apartment over the iPad and oh _fuck._ She was dead. Oh, she was so dead – maybe. Maybe she could go back in and apologize somehow, _and oh my God Baelish could press charges over it oh my God Sansa Stark have you lost your damn mind_ –

She had to calm down. She was barely breathing then.

Call Robb. Call mom. Call Brienne.

She was getting through this, she just, she just needed to use her brain for one second. Her family was getting her out of this, she could count on them, and. And something. She had to come up with something.

Determined, Sansa lifted herself off the ground (God, she hadn’t even noticed she had ended up on the floor in the middle of her panic) and dialed Brienne.

 

“I can’t believe you almost passed out in the middle of the street,” Arya huffed as Brienne placed a wet towel on her forehead. “That’s a new one. You never freak out like that.”

“I don’t kick people in the testicles, either,” She sighed, wincing at the coldness of the towel. Brienne looked worried to no end, but Arya seemed to be in the verge of laughing. “Today has been a very out of character day for me.”

Brienne had run to Sansa once she told her what had happened on the phone, Arya in tow, even if it meant they had to interrupt their own work to help her. Brienne had almost insisted on carrying her to the car like she was actually unconscious, but she had managed to convince her she was fine, just a little dizzy _Arya don’t let her carry me_ –

The car ride was spent with Brienne quietly glaring at her in disappointment, Sansa shrinking in her seat in embarrassment and Arya asking the worst questions in the world, because of course, Arya would. _Did you feel them breaking or something? Can testicles break? Was it with the heel? Did you see blood?_

Once they had gotten to her apartment, she had flopped down on the couch and Brienne had rushed into her kitchen to find something to help with her headache, while Arya continued being… Arya.

“Don’t stress her out,” Brienne chastised.

“You’re the one stressing her out,” Arya pouted, sinking in the chair next to the couch. “Your disappointed glare is like a knife to the heart.”

Her friend bit her lip. “I’m not disappointed.”

“Tell that to your _eyes_ , Brienne,” Her sister joked, but Brienne was really bad at catching jokes, so Sansa threw her _I heart Mr. Darcy_ couch cushion at her sister. “Hey!”

“I’m just worried,” Brienne admitted, ignoring Arya’s protests, “He deserved it, but now you don’t have a job.”

“I know,” Sansa flinched at her own words as if remembering what she had just done to her boss, sitting up and making room for her friend to sit. “I just couldn’t take it anymore. He’s such an ass! And I hated writing for that dumb magazine!” She admitted, rage bubbling up inside of her. “Nobody cares about the Kardashian’s latest party! Especially not me! And I had to write that bullshit!”

Arya bit her lip this time, and in an effort to comfort her sister, placed a hand to her thigh, which made Sansa take a deep breath to try and calm herself down. It was so _unfair,_ though.

“He’s an asshole,” Her sister tried to reassure her. “You did nothing wrong.”

“If he sues me I’m dead,” Sansa countered, and placed her head in her hands, dread flooding her voice. “I’m dead. I kicked my boss in the nuts and I don’t have a job.”

“You won’t be jobless,” Arya tried to comfort her. “You could work with dad!”

Sansa sobbed in despair.

“Or not,” Arya added. Her and Brienne exchanged worried looks, neither of them knowing what to do, so Arya quickly mouthed _call Robb_ to Brienne, who (trying to make as little noise possible) rose from the couch and quickly locked herself in the bathroom.

A couple of minutes passed as Arya uncomfortably patted Sansa in the knee, looking around the apartment trying to come up with something to make her sister feel better, but coming up empty handed anyway.

“I could kill Littlefinger for you, you know?” She tried but to no use. Sansa was fully crying now, her shoulders shaking with her sobs. “Please don’t cry, Sans.”

That only made her cry harder. Arya shut up after that.

It wasn’t long after that that a knock on the door disrupted their none existent conversation, and quickly Brienne emerged from the bathroom to open the door. Robb walked in, determination and worry in his face, followed by a very nonchalant Theon Greyjoy.

“How did you get here so fast?” Brienne questioned, staring at the pair of them. Robb walked past her without a second glance, but Theon shrugged and gifted her one of his infamous smirks.

“I want to die and I drive like it.”

Brienne stared.

Sansa looked up from the couch as mascara ran down her cheeks like a river, locked eyes with Robb, who simply gifted her a small shaky smile and then she proceeded to hug him like she was ten again and he had killed the spider in her room. Brienne excused herself to the kitchen to make some tea and Arya joined her as quickly as possible, while Theon just smiled at the sight of them.

They stayed like that for a minute, Sansa sniffing and Robb hugging her like she would slip away if he stopped, and when they pulled away he managed to make her smile just with the sight of him. Robb’s presence was always comforting for her.

“How did you know?” She asked, and both of them sat down at the couch, Theon leaving to the bathroom to get some makeup wipes.

“Brienne texted me,” He replied. “We came here as fast as we could – you know how Theon drives.”

That made her giggle a little bit. “Remember that time he drove us to the mall and he almost hit that old lady?”

“And that old lady ended up being my college professor,” Theon called from the bathroom, making both Robb and Sansa laugh. “Worst class I’ve ever taken in my life.”

He walked in the room again, makeup wipes in hand, and after making sure no one else but Robb and Sansa were around to witness this moment of softness, started cleaning Sansa’s cheeks as gently as he could. Robb smiled at the sight of them, and when he was done, Sansa gifted him with a grateful smile.

“Thank you,” She mumbled, sniffling softly. “I’m sorry for freaking out and worrying you guys.”

“It’s okay,” Robb brushed it off with a gesture.

“We’re used to it,” Theon clarified, “never a dull moment with the Starks.”

“You’re the one to talk,” Robb rolled his eyes. “Yara once threw an ax at her roommate.”

“That was once,” his husband noted. “Rickon almost bit off someone’s fingers in kindergarten, remember?”

“Anyway,” Robb interrupted, placing his arm around Sansa’s shoulders. “We are not here to talk about out screwed up families. I think we _all_ know why we’re here.”

Sansa bit her lip and looked up at her brother with big, hopeful, round puppy eyes.

“Pride and Prejudice marathon?”

Robb nodded, “Pride and Prejudice marathon.”

Soon enough, everyone was gathered around the TV, snuggled close, tea in hand and watching Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth fall in love for the hundredth time in their lifetimes. It probably was, but everyone was extra nice about it. If you were close to Sansa, it just came with the job. Theon only joked about Colin Firth’s scowl _once_ , which was a new record, honestly. And Arya only complained about it three times. A very successful marathon indeed.

By the time they were done, the sun had settled in the horizon and Brienne announced she had to go back to her apartment to feed her cat. Arya left right after, saying she needed to go back before Catelyn would start to worry and think she was planning on graffiting a random high school again, not before hugging Sansa so forcefully she almost suffocated her. In the end, she was just left with Robb and Theon, the former almost falling asleep on his husband’s shoulder.

“Thank you for today,” Sansa softly whispered to her brother, “I really needed it.”

Robb started running circles on Theon’s scalp with his fingers, and Sansa watched as he visibly relaxed. “No problem, Sans,” he murmured, watching Theon with a smile.

Robb and Theon had started dating without even realizing it. They had been best friends since either of them could remember, and lunch at McDonald's slowly transformed to dinners at slightly fancier places, movie night at home turned to cinema and dinner, and before either could realize it, quarterback Robb Stark had started dating his best friend. No one was surprised. Well, no one but _them_ was surprised.

Then college came and they had to separate because Theon’s father wanted him to go to a university back in the Iron Islands, which had both of them in shambles, honestly (Sansa had to call Robb every night just to hear him sniffle on the other side of the phone) until Theon decided he didn’t want to please his father and permanently moved to Winterfell, got a job near Robb’s college and somehow made it all work. During his graduation ceremony, he’d asked Theon to marry him.

The wedding happened during a storm so strong lighting hit one of the threes outside the venue and people were stuck there for more than twelve hours. It was… fitting. Plus Sansa got to be Robb’s best woman, and Yara hit on her, which she wasn’t 100% against off.

Theon and Robb’s love was gentle touches, grumpy fights, and smiles reserved just for each other. They knew one another like the back of their hands – like they were meant to be together, no matter the odds. They always found each other.

Sansa wanted that; she craved for something like that.

Robb had noticed her mind had wandered off, and he frowned. “Are you still worried?”

Sansa bit her lip and nodded, even though she wasn’t even thinking about what happened that afternoon, “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Sans,” he worried, “If I knew he was such an asshole I would’ve killed him.”

“I know,” she giggled, “that’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“I’m sorry you lost your job,” he continued, his frown not leaving his features. “But at least you still have Aunt Lysa’s money, if you haven't spent it all off already.”

Sansa’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“She left us money in her will,” he clarified, confused that she didn’t know.

“No, I know,” she clarified quickly. “But it’s like a thousand or something. It won't really that much help.”

Robb frowned, and straightened up all of a sudden, causing Theon to stir awake.

“What’s going on?” he asked, sleepily, and Sansa was sure Robb would’ve made heart eyes at him weren’t for the fact his full attention was on her.

“Did you not read Aunt Lysa’s will?” He asked.

“No,” She shook her head. “The lawyer told us she left us money but I didn’t ask how much. I just assumed it was – ”

“ _Sansa_.”

She groaned. She was done with people cutting her off. “What?!”

“She left us two hundred thousand dollars.”

Sansa blinked.

“… what?”

“Didn’t you read the will?” Theon frowned.

“Obviously not!” She exclaimed, and Theon placed his hand on his forehead as if her yelling was making his head hurt. “She left us a hundred K each?”

“No, Sans,” he explained. “She left us two hundred thousand each.”

“I…” _What_?! She was simply speechless. She wasted all those years working on that godawful job and for nothing?! How had she not realized that she had left her that kind of money? Suddenly, she punched her brother across the arm with as much force as she could muster.

“Hey!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?! Aunt Lysa’s been dead for four years!”

"Mom told me not to talk about it because it might upset the others who got nothing," he groaned, and Sansa realized he had a point. “I just supposed you read it like the responsible adult you are supposed to be.”

“Give me a break,” she rolled her eyes.

“You’re the one who’s supposed to read this kind of stuff,” Theon pointed out. Which was true, of course. She _was_ the responsible Stark sibling.

“I just… I’d never thought she would give us that kind of money,” She placed her hand over her mouth, in complete shock. There was no other word to possibly describe it: she was absolutely shocked. Aunt Lysa had that kind of money going around, so that wasn’t the biggest surprise... but giving so much to little old _I-Love-Jane-Austen_ Sansa who was twenty at the time and barely knew anything about being an adult? A few beats passed, where she tried to pull her thoughts together, and Robb and Theon looked like they were waiting for her to continue, so she did. “What did you spend yours on?”

“The wedding,” He nodded. “Theon’s family didn’t want to help and mom and dad don’t have the kind of money for a wedding. So we used the inheritance. I still have some saved.”

“He wanted to go to the Maldives for our honeymoon,” Theon rolled his eyes, nodding towards Robb. “You know how he is. I told him we should save some money and luckily he listened.”

Robb pouted. “I wanted to take you to the Maldives.”

“I don’t want to go to the damn Maldives,” said Theon, pressing his lips together in annoyance.

“I can’t believe I have two hundred K to my name,” Sansa continued, bewilderment evident on her voice. “What do I do with that kind of cash?”

“Survive, now that you don’t have a job,” Theon pointed out, and Robb chuckled under his breath.

“Yeah.” She said. It would really help until she could find a stable job. To pay rent and be an adult and stuff.

Or.

Or… there was something that she had planned on doing for a while now. A magical place, where she could spend a month or so on a paid, luxury Jane Austen themed resort, with men in tight breeches, women in corsets, horses, no electronics (but with modern plumbing!)… She had dreamt of this place ever since she had heard about it when she was eighteen and barely getting into college, but now… as she remembered the promise of Austenland, her eyes shone with excitement.

Theon had barely any time to register the look on her face and say _fuck_ before she was jumping off of her seat and shrieking with excitement.

“Oh my God!” She shouted, joyful. “Oh my God!”

“What?” Robb stood up quickly, making Theon (who was leaning on him) fall in the cushions. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” She smiled so widely it started to hurt. “Everything is amazing, actually!”

Robb looked at her like she had grown a second head, but she paid him no mind.

“What do you mean?”

“I know what I’m gonna do with the money,” grinned Sansa, showcasing her white teeth.

“Tell me it doesn’t have anything to do with Jane Austen,” Theon begged, face buried in the couch.

Sansa bit her lip. A beat passed, and Robb sighed.

“Sansa…”

“It’s _Austenland_!” She tried to defend herself.

“What the hell is that?” Theon asked, confused. Robb groaned; he had heard this too many times.

“It’s a Jane Austen themed resort,” She answered, excitement evident in her voice. “I get to play a character in the world of Jane Austen, to write my own story in her world. It's a 21st-century escapade! I want this so bad. It’s been my dream since I was thirteen and I first watched the movie!”

“You don’t have a job,” Robb replied, shaking his head in disagreement. “You need to save up money – ”

“I have to do this,” She shook her head. “This might be my only chance. I’ll never have this kind of money again.”

“Aunt Lysa wanted you to get over this obsession,” He frowned.

“Aunt Lysa wanted me to get married at fourteen and she called Arya a dog with fleas all the time,” Sansa rolled her eyes. “She isn’t the best to talk about healthy ways of living or behaving.”

“She didn’t want us together either,” Theon pointed out.

“See?!”

He frowned. "Theon, you're supposed to me on my side."

"Oh, I am," He corrected, rising and sitting on the couch properly. "I just hated that woman."

"Mmhmm," Sansa hummed in agreement. "Who cares what she wanted? May she rest in Peace, but... This might help me make my dream come true."

“Whatever, Sans,” Robb simply said, grabbing Theon by the arm and helping him stand up. “We have a goldfish to feed. Do what makes you happy, but… please, try to think this through.”

As the couple left her apartment and she was left alone to stare at her framed picture of Matthew Macfayden in full costume as Mr. Darcy in her living room, she knew there was nothing to think about. The choice had been made.

 

The afternoon of the day after rolled by, and Sansa found herself having coffee with Brienne and Arya under the pretense of having to chat with them in her dining room. Needless to say, Arya was annoyed, and Brienne as always was frowning. Arya tapped her foot against the floor, anxious to hear why she had been summoned, but Sansa tried to not drop the news on them so harshly. One, she knew Arya would be a nightmare about it. Two, she knew Brienne would disagree. She needed to play her cards properly. Sansa nibbled at her biscuit and tried to make small talk but to no avail.

“Why did you ask us here, Sansa?” Arya interrupted, rolling her eyes at her attempts to avoid the topic.

“I’ll get to it, Arya,” Sansa snapped back, “I don’t know why I invited you, given your manners.”

Arya huffed. “Well, you did. Why am I here?”

“It’s not like you have anything better to do – ”

“Guys,” Brienne interrupted, ever the mom of the group, honestly. “Can you not fight for more than five seconds.”

It wasn’t a question, more like an order. Arya rolled her eyes, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else, “Fine.”

“Yes,” Sansa nodded, pleased to stop bickering. She cleared her throat after a couple of seconds passed. “So, I know why you guys are wondering why I brought you here.”

"Yes we are," nodded Brienne.

Sansa sighed. "Well, it all started after you guys left yesterday, and I was alone with Robb and Theon -"

“Don’t make it into a story,” Arya huffed, frustrated. “Just be done with it.”

“Let her finish,” Brienne rolled her eyes.

“ _As I was saying_ ,” She cleared her throat, bringing back the attention to her, “After you guys left, Robb and I spoke for a while. He wanted to make sure I was okay and all. In fact, he and Theon told me a very funny story and -"

"Be done with it, Sansa," Arya urged.

She didn't appreciate the rudeness one bit, but she just glared at Arya for a second before thinking of how she needed to play her cards, and her gaze softened quickly.

"Well, there's no easy way to drop this on you guys," She said, fidgeting in her seat. "Turns out Aunt Lysa left me quite a bit of money.”

Her sister frowned. “What do you mean ‘quite a bit of money’?”

"Aunt Lysa who said you needed to have a child at seventeen?" Questioned her friend. Sansa nodded.

"Yes, that one." Sansa tensed for a split second where she hoped none of them noticed and shifted in her seat. “She left me two hundred thousand dollars.”

Brienne’s eyes just widened.

“She left you _what_?!” Arya exclaimed, her eyebrows lifting on her forehead.

“Two hundred grand,” She bit her lip.

"I can't believe this!" her sister exclaimed, but Brienne only gaped at her.

"Me neither, honestly," admitted Sansa. "It's all so sudden..."

"How come you're only hearing about this now?" Brienne questioned, finding her voice again, apparently.

"I didn't actually read the will," She slumped her shoulders, avoiding their gaze, embarrassed. "I knew she had left me money, but I never bothered to read how much."

“And she left me shit,” Arya narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest, pride hurt.

“You did slap Cousin Robyn,” Sansa pointed out, then immediately regretted it.

Arya pointed a finger at her, eyes narrowing even more and making her flinch. “So did you!”

“Yeah, but she didn’t know that,” stated Sansa matter-of-factly.

“I’m gonna kill her,” Arya threw her hands up, and before Sansa could even open her mouth to protest, she continued. “I know she’s fucking dead. But I’ll bring her back to life and then kill her again! What a bitch!”

Sansa couldn’t actually deny that.

“Sansa,” Brienne interrupted Arya’s fit. “I’m happy for you, but why did you call us here?”

The reminder made her beam all of sudden and brought an end to Arya's tantrum. Which was not a good sign for any party involved, most definitely, but Sansa denied that all the time. She clasped her hands together.

“This involves both of you!” She exclaimed, excited.

“Oh God,” Muttered her sister, but Sansa paid her no mind, as usual.

“Remember that place that I always talk about? The Jane Austen resort – ?”

“No way,” Arya interrupted her again.

“Can you let me finish a goddamn senten –”

Arya ignored her. “You’re gonna spend all your money on that?”

“Well, not _all_ – ”

“Sansa, you just lost your job,” Brienne reminded her, brows furrowed together. “I know you love this place but you need to use your head now.”

“ _I know, I know_ ,” She groaned, laying her head on the table, almost whining at this point. “I just really want this. It’s a no brainer for me.”

“Yeah, because you have no brain!” Arya exclaimed, completely baffled, and Sansa lifted her head just to glare at her. “This is insane.”

"I have to agree with Arya," Brienne shook her head, looking disappointed. "You need to know when to stop, Sansa and -"

“Look,” Sansa said, and her tone was determined now, and somehow it made both of them shut up. “I’m going. I’m telling you guys because I want you to come with me, but I won’t force you. I’m gonna spend money on this, no matter what you guys say.”

“You want us to come?” Brienne asked, looking touched by the consideration.

“Of course,” Sansa smiled, softly. “You guys are my best friends.” She glanced at Arya, “Unfortunately.”

Of course she would go either way. Austenland was something she had always dreamed of doing, no matter what Brienne or Arya would say, but being with them would be so fun. Sure, Arya and Brienne were both tomboys who couldn't give more of a crap about Pride and Prejudice or even romance for that matter, but they both had her heart, honestly, and there were no people she'd rather share it with (because Theon would never agree and therefore Robb wouldn't, either). Also... Arya and Brienne in big, puffy dresses? That, she didn't ever want to miss.

Arya just rolled her eyes at her, but it was obvious she cared for her sister anyway because when she spoke next, there was only worry.

“Are you really gonna do this?” She questioned her. “You really think it’s worth it?”

Sansa nodded. “I’ve never been surer.”

Reluctantly, Brienne nodded.

“Well,” She sighed, looking at her best friend. “If you’re going, I’m going.”

“Oh, Bri!” Sansa hugged her tightly, and she just patted her awkwardly on the back. Brienne was like that. “Thank you!”

A pair of impatient stares were placed on Arya after a few moments. Sansa begged for her to say yes in her mind, hoping someone Arya noticed how much she actually wanted her to be there. Arya just glared at the pair, but finally gave in.

“Okay, fine,” She rolled her eyes. “But you’re paying.” 

"Of course!" Sansa shrieked. "I can't believe we're doing this!"

"Me neither," sighed Brienne.

"An escapade of the 21st century! Imagine the romance, the drama!"

Arya's eyes went wide with realization. "I'm _not_ shitting in a bucket!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can we pretend this is how wills work bc i dont have those in my country so :)  
> can u guys tell how much i effing LOVE throbb bc i do. no jon in this one but he's coming next chapter!!!  
> please leave me some kudos so i can feed my family of 7 children and also feel validated


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sansa breaks the rules, brienne is confused for a lesbian and jon doesn't particularly like dancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unfortunately, jaime wont be here for the first chapters. but he is in this fic!! he just arrives later  
> i think this is going to be about 10 chapters long. thats my guess, but, we never know, fellas  
> [english is not my first language. if you guys see any mistakes, please let me know]

_CHAPTER I_

_just happy to be here_

"I can't believe you dragged me into this," Huffed Arya besides her, shaking her head as England fields passed them by. "I can't believe you convinced me to do this thing!"

"Well, we're on our way to the State, so you better," replied Sansa, barely containing her excitement. She felt like she was about to potentially combust with it.

They had been driving for about fifty minutes now, all three of them bundled up in the back of the car which was sent to pick them up. The whole family had been there to bid them farewell, Catelyn almost teary, Ned confused, and Robb looking extremely disappointed. Which was fine, Sansa could deal with disappointment for a few days. She had been planning for this trip for at least three weeks now - this was it. These were about to be the best weeks of her entire life, and not even Robb being upset could ruin it for her.

She had taken the liberty of sewing and making a Regency era dress, which, if she was about to say so herself, was quite pretty. It was blue, which complimented her eyes, and the nice summer that she had bought to go with it. She didn't care that the driver stared when he parked and she climbed up. She felt on top of the world. On the other hand, Brienne had opted in wearing a simple shirt and jeans, and Arya jeans and a leather jacket, both choices of which Sansa had frowned upon. But fine. She couldn't force them to wear dresses. That was _fine_.

Brienne looked incredibly uncomfortable, and she was constantly fidgeting in her spot, face red as a tomato. Arya, on the other hand, was pouting and she didn't look excited at all.

"Could you guys lighten up a little bit?" SIghed Sansa after a moment of silence. "We're about to experience the Regency era!"

"Does it come with the syphilis?" Arya glared, then crossed her arms across her chest. 

Brienne looked actually worried. "Will we still have our basic human rights as women?"

"No, Arya, " she glared at Arya, then frowned at Brienne. "Yes, Bri."

"Then I'm wearing pants," nodded Brienne. 

"Bri," begun Sansa, but Arya interrupted her with yelling.

"Me too!"

"Okay!" she exclaimed, touching her forehead as if feeling an upcoming headache. "Only one of you can wear pants!"

"I'll rock paper scissors you for it," suggested Brienne.

Arya stared, then shook her head. "No, you called them first; you should get them."

Brienne's gaze softened.

"Thank you," she said, honestly. "You guys don't want to see me in a dress."

"You'll have to ask if they have spare pants for you, Bri," reminded Sansa.

"I'll just wear the men's ones."

Sansa nodded. "Have you guys thought about your names?"

"I'll just be Brienne," shrugged her friend.

"Oh," Sansa didn't want to show her disappointment, but she knew she visibly deflated. "Well, I've been thinking about Miss Tully, like mom -"

Arya simply smirked.

"What if I force everyone to call me Sansa?"

Sansa squinted at her sister.

"You wouldn't dare -"

"Ladies," The driver called from the driver's seat. He had a shaved head, and looked almost... scruffy. "We're here."

Indeed they were. They had stopped in front of a beautiful state, with a beautiful fountain and garden, though it was not the one in the pamphlets. Later, by carriage, after everything was settled, they would take them to the actual place. Still, Sansa felt herself grow giddy with excitement, and she clutched Brienne's arm so tightly it left her mark. Arya simply sighed. In the entrance, there was an old woman, possibly Olenna Tyrell, the owner of the resort.

The driver opened the door of the car, and Sansa all but climbed out. Brienne and Arya took their time, on the other hand, but Olenna didn't seem to mind. She quickly and warmly waved at them.

"You must be Mrs. Tyrell?" Asked Sansa to the elderly woman, who gifted her a tight smile.

"Of course," nodded the woman. She was in full Regency clothing, a blue dress, and a matching hat. "The founder of Austenland. You must be Sansa?"

"Yes!" Smiled Sansa, not noticing the cold tone of voice Olenna had been using. "Though I've been thinking about my name, and I came up with -"

"I name has already been assigned for you," interrupted Olenna, and Sansa immediately felt herself flush. "You're Miss Stone."

"... Miss Stone?"

"Gendry," Mrs. Tyrell paid her no mind. "Please take the luggage inside, and prepare the carriage for the manor."

"Right away," nodded the driver. "Good luck," he whispered to them, and Arya smirked for the first time since they got here.

"I think I'm gonna need it," she answered, and he smirked back.

"Come, do come," Mrs. Tyrell called for them, and soon enough they stepped into the state, a huge house, filled with old china (teacups, plates, cutlery), vintage decorations candles, and pastel colors such as greens, yellows, pinks, blues... Sansa felt in heaven.

Arya and Brienne kept silent, but Sansa couldn't contain her excitement. "I've been a fan of Jane Austen since I turned fifteen! My favorite book is Pride & Prejudice, and my favorite character is -"

"Mr. Darcy," finished Mrs. Tyrell for her, and she could sense a hint of... coldness there now. "Very basic, very basic indeed."

"Well," Sansa chuckled nervously, completely taken aback by the owner's behavior. "How can you not love him?"

"Yes, every girl's dream," she nodded unenthusiastically. "We're here."

She opened the door to an office, again, completely following the theme of Regency and not a single electronic device could be found; not even a computer. Instead, there were candles everywhere, at this time of the day off and unused, and Mrs. Tyrell sat down on her desk and motioned for the three women to do the same.

"Complete immersion in the Regency era is the only way to do justice to Jane Austen's work," rambled on Mrs. Tyrell. Arya started devouring the sweets she had placed on her desk, and Brienne just sat there, tense as a rock.

"I agree completely -"

"Wouldn't you say so, Miss. Stark?"

"Uh," Arya just blinked, mouth full of sweets. "Yes."

Sansa pressed her lips together in annoyance. "She gets to keep her name?"

"Well, there's two of you, my dear," Mrs. Tyrell answered, slightly chuckling. "Surely you do not mean for us to call both of you Miss Stark? That would be awfully confusing."

"I suppose not."

"To avoid any confusion," proceeded the woman. "I would like to announce that we offer different experiences." Mrs. Tyrell pulled out four pamphlets - a blue one, a golden one, a silver one, and one that appeared to be copper. "You have all purchased platinum elite packages, except for you, Miss Stone."

"Excuse me, what?" Sansa frowned. "No, that can't be right."

"What? Me, Miss Stone?" Mrs. Tyrell glared. "Am I not right?"

"No, I -" Sansa shook her head. "I bought three platinum elite packages."

"I am sorry, Miss Stone," Mrs. Tyrell said, though she didn't seem sorry at all. "Your friends have all platinum elite packages, except for you. You have purchased the normal, basic, copper package."

"There must be a mistake," Sansa shook her head once again.

"No mistake."

"It's okay," Brienne spoke for the first time since they got off the car. "We can exchange."

"The packages are without a return policy," Mrs. Tyrell squinted at Sansa, but kept a sweet tone directed at Brienne. "You cannot switch storylines. Each has been specifically designed for you."

Sansa groaned, dreading but still trying to find a solution. "How can I fix this?" 

"You can leave and purchase another package while your friends stay here -"

"No!" Exclaimed Sansa. "No. I'll stay."

"Very well," Olenna grimaced. "You'll understand you won't have access to certain things, and you'll be excluded from some as well."

Sansa gritted her teeth together. "Oh."

Arya blinked.

"She's very happy to be here," Brienne commented for her, nudging her side and it reminded her of why she was here, and she felt herself relax at least a bit.

"Yes, I am," she smiled. "This has been my dream since I can remember. I'm just so excited to be here -"

"All of my guests will experience romance with one of our actors," continued Mrs. Tyrell. "But I must emphasize that there will be no inappropriate touching, other than social courtesies."

Arya made a face and leaned into Brienne's space to whisper, but Sansa heard it all the same. "I'm supposed to fall in love with a guy in breeches?"

"I also expect my guests to have good manners to maintain appropriate conversations and to abandon any electronic devices and all things modern while in their stay in Austenland," she explained. "If you are to disobey this rule, that will result in the early termination of your stay."

"You don't have to worry about me," nodded Sansa. "I have deep knowledge of the world of Jane Austen."

Mrs. Tyrell smiled, but it was strangled.

Arya cleared her throat.

"So about the toilets..."

 

Afterwards, Mrs Tyrell had guided them to to a room where they handled them dresses to try on. Sansa frowned a little (after all, she had brought her own gown) but after seeing the corsets and dresses they would be trying one, changed her mind completely. Arya scowled when Mrs Tyrell insisted on a corset but obliged nonetheless. After three pushes, Arya was gasping for air.

"Enough!" She yelled. "My lungs are about to burst!"

Sansa thought she was being quite dramatic, but she realized how wrong she was when it was time to put on hers. She had worn corsets before, but the way Mrs Tyrell's assistant helped (some young girl called Miss Poole who had to play the part of a maid, the poor girl) to tie it and tighten it left her breathless. Mrs Tyrell urged Brienne to put on one, but she adamantly refused.

"I won't wear a corset," she shook her head. "And I won't wear a dress."

"Oh, I get it," Olenna nodded, understanding downing upon her face. "You're a butch."

Arya snickered.

"A what?"

Sansa sighed. "A lesbian, Brienne."

"I'm not a lesbian," she blushed. "I just don't like dresses. And I won't wear them."

"Fine, fine," Mrs. Tyrell agreed, sighing slightly. "But do wear the corset, dear."

Brienne sighed, and then nodded, face still pink. As the others were busy helping Brienne get into her corset, Sansa grabbed her bag and sneaked her phone into her corset, and hid it between her boobs. Sure, Sansa could live without TV, she could live without electricity or without lights. But without her phone? That wasn't possible. 

Soon enough Brienne was done, and Mrs Tyrell found some men shirts and trousers for Brienne from the male actors, and she sat on one of the couches, waiting for Sansa and Arya, still looking pink and embarrassed.

"What about this beautiful chiffon dress for you, Miss Stark?" Mrs Tyrell questioned. "Or maybe this gorgeous yellow one?"

Arya scratched her head.

"Yes."

"Just pick the yellow one," Sansa rolled her eyes at her sister, and Arya stuck out her tongue at her but obliged anyway.

Miss Poole handed Sansa a stripped, brown, very modest looking dress with a smile, and Sansa struggled to smile back at her. This was definitely not what she had planned for the weekend, but it had to do. Miss Poole wasn't as good with hair and makeup either, but she was really kind and sweet, so Sansa didn't mind completely. That was her dream, right? She was living the dream! She was just happy to be there!

Mrs Tyrell clasped her hands together once they were ready. "Let's go meet the gentlemen, shall we?"

(Of course, Mrs Tyrell wouldn't even let her ride in the carriage with them, so Sansa had to go in the back, carrying her own luggage. A dream indeed).

 

The landscape to the manor was absolutely gorgeous, with stunning rivers, forests and rich colors of greens, earthy browns. It was beautiful, and it left Sansa breathless. It truly felt like she was nowhere near the 21st century anymore, instead riding towards a rich man's house, ready for a ball. In the entrance, maids, cooks, drivers and more were there to welcome them with smiles.

The carriage got to a stop, and Gendry helped Sansa out of the carriage. Brienne and Arya were at her side immediately, both looking apologetic.

"I'm sorry you couldn't come with us," lamented her friend, worried, but Sansa brushed it off.

"Don't worry," Sansa smiled, trying to reassure her. "I got to see more than you guys from the back."

"This looks like that show mom loves," Arya pointed out. "Downtown Abigail."

Sansa blinked.

"You mean Downton Abbey?"

"That's what I said."

"Gendry, hurry up with those bags!" called Mrs Tyrell, hurrying them into the house, but Arya stood still.

"You want help with those?" she frowned.

Gendry seemed... startled. "Huh?"

"You need help?" she asked again, rolling her eyes this time around.

"You're a lady," he pointed out, clearly confused. He gestured with his hand at Arya's dress and appearance.

Arya frowned. "Am not a lady."

"Miss Stark!" exclaimed Mrs Tyrell, "Miss Stark!"

"Seems like you're a lady to me," Gendry shrugged, and continued with the bags. "Thanks for offering, though."

 

Mrs Tyrell was showing them around the manor and assigning each of them their rooms. Currently, they were at what they called the _Platinum Room_  floor of the manor, which meant she wasn't going to actually sleep there at any moment, but still, Sansa enjoyed venturing into all those luxurious rooms and she was sure hers would be a little less grandiose, yet equally pretty.

"For you, Miss Tarth, we have our finest, most beautiful Platinum room."

"For you, Miss Stark, our most luxurious and comfortable room in the Platinum floor."

Both their room had been dreams come true, with beautiful candelabras, mirrors, golden silk sheets, and both Arya and Brienne had looked so terribly out of place in them that Sansa had almost started laughing when she saw their mortified expressions. Sansa was sure hers was going to be as dreamy as theirs... until Miss Poole and Tyrell started guiding her down the corridor, and then down other corridors, then others... until they got to the last floor, where the roof was so low she had to duck not to hit her head on it.

Mrs Tyrell smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"You, of course, have a lovely room on the Copper level."

The room was. A room. There wasn't much more to it, and it was nothing like Arya's or Brienne's. The wallpaper was a little worm off, the blue of the walls faded, and the mirror too small. Yet she smiled all the smile when she saw it, and she couldn't quite pinpoint why, because this was probably the rattiest room Mrs Tyrell could give her without making obvious the fact she hated her

But she was just... so happy to be there.

"Dinner is at nine o'clock sharp," the woman reminded her. "I expect you can find your own way to the drawing room."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Sansa nodded, smiling from ear to ear.

Mrs Tyrell left without a word, and Sansa suspected she wouldn't take much offense if she wondered around the manor for a little bit before dinner time - the manor was huge anyway, she probably wouldn't even find her. Plus, it would be great practice if she did have to get to the drawing room on her own.

She left her room quickly, ducking through the tiny hallway, and walked around aimlessly for a while through the beautiful corridors and rooms, just admiring the decoration and paintings. The manor was stunning, as was everything so far, and Sansa couldn't actually believe she was there.

Soon enough she stumbled into the ballroom, and she felt herself smile a little. The room was huge, and she could almost picture the balls and parties that must've taken place in there before she arrived. She could almost hear the music playing. She imagined herself twirling around in her beloved's arms, swaying with the music, feeling his breath on her lips, a forbidden kiss...

"Sansa!"

She hadn't realized she had actually started dancing until Arya's voice startled her and broke her out of her trance.

"Sansa! Come here!" She called, distantly, from another room, and soon enough she was hurrying after her sister. "I think the statues are actually staring at us!"

 

It wasn't long before nine o'clock, and quickly she and the other girls were rushed into the drawing room by Miss Poole, who smiled kindly at Brienne, who looked like she was about to spontaneously combust at any moment now, while Arya just looked completely annoyed. Sansa felt butterflies in her stomach for some stupid reason but managed to plaster a smile on her face. 

The room was beautiful, as was the rest of the house, but she didn't spend much time staring at the room but rather the people in it. There was a woman talking with a man with a beard, and next to them, giggling about whatever they were talking about, was a beautiful man, with curls and deep, green eyes. He pulse quickened at the sight of him. On the other side of a room, a man lifted a book to his face to cover it, but Sansa didn't mean his scowl.

"It's a room full of Darcys," Arya pointed out as soon as they entered. "Sansa's going to piss herself."

Sansa pinched her in the arm, "I'm not - !"

"May I present Miss Arya Stark," Announced Mrs Tyrell, approaching them and grabbing Arya by the arm, not acknowledging the fact that she looked like she'd rather die any second now. "Heiress to the bast Stark fortune."

Arya grimaced. "Hey."

"We're also pleased to be in the company of Miss Brienne of Tarth," she nodded at Brienne to come over. "The great explorer and novelist."

"Er," she cleared her throat, very clearly uncomfortable with everything that was going on. "Hello."

Sansa beamed.

"And Miss Sansa Stone," Mrs Tyrell nodded at her. "An orphan with no fortune who Miss Stark took in out of the goodness in her heart."

A man in the room simply clutched her heart, as if her story made him suffer. Sansa tried not to frown but found that she couldn't. He was handsome and young, with a prominent beard and a smile that made it seem like he found everything quite funny.

"That is Renly Baratheon," The woman pointed out, smiling at the man, who stood up and walked towards them at the mention of his name. "Second brother to Duke Robert Baratheon."

He smiled at Brienne. "I'm happy to be in the presence of such beauty..."

Brienne only blushed even harder, even her ears grew red. Arya, on the other hand, just yawned.

"... and class," finished Mr Renly. "What an immense pleasure."

"My dear grandchild, Loras Tyrell," smiled Olenna, pride evident in her voice. The beautiful man Sansa had seen earlier stood up and walked towards them and Sansa couldn't quite believe her eyes. He was even more gorgeous up close, with curly hair and beautiful eyes, pale skin and a polite smile. "Heir to this state."

"My ladies," he bowed, and Sansa had to physically fight the urge to swoon. When he stood up, Sansa thought he stared at her for a little longer than what was appropriate.

"Mr Tyrell," she smiled at him, and he beamed back at her. There was something behind his smile. It seemed a little... playful, almost.

"And my beloved nephew," Mrs Tyrell brought her back to reality. "Lord Jon Snow, owner of a state in Brokehampton."

The man who was covering his face with the book stood up with a sigh and then bowed with not much energy. He was handsome, with black curls adorning his face, but he avoided eye contact anyway. He didn't seem interested at all, which was a pity, as he was quite... erm, well. Hot. All in all, he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. He and Arya would get along, then.

"There's one for each," she whispered to her friends, but they didn't have the chance to respond.

"And of course, our honored guest, Miss Margaery Tyrell, Loras' sister."

The beautiful woman who had been talking with Mr Renly and Loras stood up, gracefully, and walked over to where they were with a kind smile. Sansa suddenly felt small next to her. She directed the room with her very presence. 

"I'm glad for your presence, ladies," and she grabbed Brienne's hands, who's pink had managed to calm down but reappeared the moment Margaery's attention was on her. "I've been so lonely without female company, surrounded by only all these men to entertain me."

She seemed kind enough, and her words were sugarcoated, but she made Sansa feel like she'd snap someone's neck if they crossed her - so Sansa made a mental note not to.

"And my son, Lord Mace Tyrell."

She pointed to a man who was laying on the couch, drinking wine. She sounded pretty disappointed with him, but then again, Sansa had learned to realize Mrs Tyrell sounded like she was disappointed with everyone, except maybe Margaery.

Mrs Tyrell guided them to the couch, and they all sat down. Brienne got stuck between Margaery and Renly, who stared at her like she was lunch, and Arya and Sansa sat on the couch in front of them, next to Olenna and Loras. Jon just sat on a chair, far from them, looking too immersed on his book to care about anything. It was a pity. It looked like he was Arya's assigned love interest (she hoped she'd gotten Loras, and Renly seemed to be into Brienne) and he looked like he'd be a hard one to get to know.

"I do hope it doesn't rain tomorrow," commented Margaery, "I'd very much like to show you the gardens."

"I would love to visit the gardens," Sansa smiled, and Margery smiled back. 

"They are decent enough," Lord Snow sighed, and Sansa fought back the urge to frown.

"Are they not up to your standards, Lord Snow?" She asked, and he simply shrugged after Olenna shut him down with a look.

"You have beautiful blue eyes," Mr Renly pointed out at Brienne, for the whole room to hear, and Brienne quickly turned red as a tomato again. "Stunning blues."

"I..." She visibly gulped. "Thank you."

To her side, Arya started snorting, and to her credit, she did try to hide it, but still, Sansa hit her on the back of the head for being rude. Loras, on the other hand, snorted as well, and she saw Lord Jon roll his eyes.

"There's something in them," Renly continued. "Fire."

Arya snickered, and Brienne turned into a blubbering mess. Sansa felt bad, so she tried to interrupt, but the bell ringing for dinner got her first.

"Saved by the bell," giggled Arya as Brienne all but sprinted to the dining room, and Sansa just rolled her eyes. 

The group was guided towards the dining room. A huge table was set in front of them, and she discovered they had sitting arrangements. At the head of the table, there was Olenna, and then Loras, who was sat in front of Arya, then Margaery next to him, her father in front of her, and then Brienne was sat in front of Renly. Which meant she was sat next to a very blushy Brienne and in front of Lord Jon. Which made Sansa almost feel discouraged, but she could deal with it if he was her assigned love interest. Lord Jon seemed like he was not the most sociable person, but she could manage. He was handsome enough.

"I do hope you all enjoy the food," Mrs Tyrell said, politely enough. 

A plate of food was placed in front of them, something very fancy she couldn't quite name but enjoyed anyway.

Margaery glanced at Lord Jon. "Has your appetite left you, Lord Snow?"

"Somewhat."

"Something on your mind?" She tilted her head.

Jon simply stared, "Absolutely nothing's on my mind, thank you."

Sansa almost frowned. Well, that was rather rude. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Arya eating a lamb leg with her hand, and sighed. She was just happy to be there. _This is your dream, Sansa! Act like it!_

"I can't believe I'm really here," she murmured to Brienne, who was still as red as one could be without asphyxiating. 

"Me neither," she mumbled back, dropping her gaze to her plate. "I _really_ can't."

"Sansa," Called Arya from the other side of the table, mouth full of food. She noticed Loras seemed amused and equally disgusted. "I mean, Miss Stone or whatever. Try some of that fancy talk you've been practicing."

"Oh, yeah," she nodded, then faced front, to stare at Lord Jon. He didn't look amused, so she smiled kindly. Maybe he was just nervous. "Lord Snow, I heard there's a ball on our last night. Do you enjoy dancing?"

Jon shook his head. "Not particularly."

Margaery continued talking, but Sansa didn't quite recover. "I am sure you've escorted many ladies to the dance floor, Lord Snow, have you not?"

Lord Snow looked ready to shut her down, but one glance from Mrs Tyrell shut him up.

"I, er. Look forward to having the pleasure of escorting you, my lady."

Margaery simply giggled, and Sansa squinted. Was Lord Snow really her assigned love interest? Cause he sure as hell wasn't acting like it. Sansa grabbed a potato and put it in her mouth.

"Dancing shows the true character of a man," chimed in Loras.

Mr Tyrell yawned, "Pass me the sheep's eyeballs, love."

Sansa spat into her plate.

"Traditionally, dancing is a matchmaking custom," Lord Snow continued speaking, "however it fails if both partners aren't equally fond of each other."

"You could say the same about any social interaction, really," Sansa pointed out. "Like talking or having dinner, for example."

Arya made a face. "I can't believe we're eating sheep eyeballs."

Lord Snow simply stared. "Society demands that we participate in social interactions and courtesies as to not seem unkind. Yet in most cases, those actions are ultimately vulgar."

"Do you honestly believe you can know a person's worth at a glance?" she squinted at him.

"I do love conversating," Mr Renly commented. "Do you, Miss Tarth?"

Lord Snow scowled. "Are you telling me you did not form an opinion on each person in this room in the few moments you've met them?"

Sansa just glared. 

"In your stead, Lord Snow, I should hope _I_ did not."

Lord Snow looked... impressed. She couldn't really read his expression.

"Do ignore him, Miss Stone," Margaery brushed it off with a gesture of her hand. "I am glad to have you here to help me against Lord Snow's cynic points of views. You know the tragic road to love, as my grandmother has told me."

Sansa simply stared, furrowing her brows at her. "What?"

"I like to do a little research on my clients before they arrive here if only to make their stay as perfect as it may," Mrs. Tyrell answered for her granddaughter. "Is it safe to say you have not been lucky in love, dear?"

The chipper mood in the table turned sour rather quickly, and Sansa suddenly grew very tense at the change of subject. Her love life was something she'd rather not discuss in a table full of people she barely just met, let alone people who'd been paid to like her and shower her in courtesies.

"Most definitely," Margaery nodded. Sansa was speechless, and her eyes dropped to her plate, but she felt no appetite. In fact, she felt like she wanted to throw up. "At your age, with those awful, horrible failed relationships -"

She felt when Arya and Brienne were about to snap, but she quickly interrupted them with the sound of her chair dragging across the floor as she stood up. She saw Lord Snow do the same, but she didn't truly care. She was humiliated, and her pride hurt as if someone had stabbed it.

"Excuse me," she managed to say, and then ran away from the room.

She knew Brienne and Arya would follow her to her room, but she didn't stop until she got there, tears threatening to fall down her cheeks, but she waited until she was locked inside until she let them fall. Brienne and Arya entered after a soft and gentle knock, and they embraced her in a hug wordlessly.

"I'm sorry," Brienne said after a few moments of silence.

"I'm going to kill them," Arya was fuming, her nostrils flaring. "Especially Margaery!"

Sansa sniffed. "She didn't mean to."

 _And she wasn't wrong, either._ He love life was a tragedy, and maybe it was her fault. Maybe it was her fault that she had lured in creeps like Ramsay, Joffrey, and Baelish. Maybe it was her fault for trying to fix them. Maybe she was just as broken. Maybe everything as her fault. Maybe she'd never find a man who didn't want to hurt her, and it'd be her fault somehow.

"Listen, Sansa," called Brienne when the tears didn't stop coming. "We both know what it's like to be treated like dirt by stupid men, and I won't let you blame yourself for it, okay?"

Sansa remembered all those years of bullying and mocking Brienne had suffered just because she wasn't "pretty", and her heart grew heavy again.

"At least we know it won't happen here," Arya sighed. "They are basically paid to like us."

"I think Lord Snow hates me, though," she remembered her behavior in the drawing room, and during dinner, and she felt herself grow slightly angry, "and I hate him back."

"He looks like he hates living," Arya shrugged. "Do you think he listens to My Chemical Romance?"

"Oh," Brienne nodded. "Most definitely."

 The three of them broke into giggles, and they spent a good few minutes like that, uncontrollably giggling, until giggling turned into slow blinks and yawns. Sansa was exhausted - she'd been through so many emotions in one day: from nervous to excited to disappointed to happy to frustrated to mortified - and now she just wanted to go to bed a have a dreamless sleep. She voiced as much to her friends, who nodded, and, after making sure she was alright, agreed to leave.

"If you need us, we're just down the hall," Brienne said, then grimaced. "Well, not down the hall. We are. Uh. Several floors above yours. In fact, you're in the servants' wing. This place is so creepy -"

"Bri."

"Yes?"

"I got it."

Both of them said goodbye, and Sansa undressed as quick as she could and threw herself on the bed. She sighed into her pillow - tomorrow would be another day. She was just happy to be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can u guys tell im like. the worst at descriptions  
> also brienne dressed as a 19th-century man........ IM GAY  
> feedback is always welcome!!  
> follow me on my twitter (@obigaykenobis) and tumblr (@atheinars) if you'd like!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> loras and sansa are kindred spirits, gendry makes a friend, brienne and arya plot revenge and jon doesn't know how to act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, i think i'm gonna make the landmark 10 chapters because i don't want this to be super long. also:ARYA POV!!! other povs beside sansa's are gonna be very few and in between, for the sake of developing a little of gendrya and braime - but those aren't the main pairings so. they aren't going to be major povs or very long either
> 
> [english is not my first language. if you guys see any mistakes, please let me know]

_CHAPTER II_

_silently fuming_

The morning came, and soon enough all the guests were found outside, strolling and conversing. Mrs. Tyrell was playing cricket with an unenthusiastic and quite drunk son, while Arya yawned as Loras and Margaery rambled on to her. Brienne looked as pink as ever with Renly whispering whatever to her, sugar coated words. The sun was shining, and the birds were signing, chipper and unbothered. The only person who was bothered, it seemed, was her. The world was out to get her. In some twisted turn of events, she had ended up having to endure yet another conversation with Lord Snow.

She tried. She really, really tried. He was well mannered, she could grant him that, and he was very handsome, even with his permanent scowl - yet he was so apathetic. He looked like he wished to be anywhere but there, especially when she was concerned. He could barely look her in the eye.

"The gardens are very beautiful," she commented once the silence was too much to bear. "Your aunt must've put on a lot of work in them."

He nodded. "She is certainly very keen on her job."

"Not many are."

Looking at the way he seemed so distant and mean over his job, Sansa thought she could name at least one person who wasn't, and it walked beside her. A little venom was laced into her words, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Lord Snow.

“What is your line of work then. Miss Stone?” he asked. “Or are you just somebody who loves to contradict people?”

She squinted at his words. “I’m an orphan taken in by Miss Stark, as you know.”

She thought about it for a second. She hadn’t liked the backstory Mrs. Tyrell had given her, and maybe this could be an opportunity to switch things up, just slightly.

“But my mother was a -”

"You're a very vocal person," Lord Snow noted, squinting at the light. He seemed to even dislike the damn sun.

She raised an eyebrow at him, tempted to stop walking right then and there, offended by his boldness and interruption. "Is that an insult, Lord Snow?"

He seemed quite taken aback, but they were interrupted by Miss Margaery, who playfully called his name and urged him to join her in her walk. Lord Snow didn't seem very affected at all at the prospect of leaving Sansa behind, and she frowned at his dismissal.

Arya quickly noticed she was alone, and not before glaring at Margaery (which earned her sister a glare from Sansa, by the way, because she liked Margaery despite her carelessness with words the night before, thank you very much), ran to her.

"Come with us, Sans," she pleaded. "I can't stand Olenna's nephew any longer."

"He's your designated guy," she pointed out. "You should be with him."

"I don't like him," She made a face like she was grossed out. "He's too… perfect. He talks about songs and stories and other nerd shit I don't get. He should've been the one for you."

"Well I got stuck with Mister I Love Life over there," she rolled her eyes, pointing at Lord Snow with her chin, who was ignoring Margaery as much as he could. "I wish we could trade, sis."

"Go with him," Arya begged. "Just go. I'll tell Mrs. Tyrell I don't feel well. Just cover for me, please!"

"Well, I'm not complaining," she shrugged. Loras was very hot, and he could probably hold a conversation better than the emo Lord. "Just don't get us into trouble."

Arya raised her fist in the air in celebration. "I won't!"

"Mrs. Stark?" Called Loras. "Are you coming?"

"Er... Uhm.  _Golly_! I feel terribly ill! I must go to my chambers at once!"

Sansa bit back a laugh. Those three acting classes she had taken in third grade had really helped her huh.

Arya glared, "shut up."

Margaery glanced at Arya, worry on her features. "Oh, dear, you must visit the infirmary once and for all. Maybe my brother can accompany you -"

"No!" She yelled, but when everyone's eyes landed on her, she cleared her throat. "I mean. I... those sheep eyes last night really fucked me up, man."

Sansa all but killed herself right then and there.

Margaery blinked.

"She means she's fine but needs to be alone, Miss Tyrell."

"Are you sure you can be alone, Arya?" Brienne frowned, Renly's sweet words momentarily forgotten. "Do you want me to go with you?"

Arya dismissed her with a wave of her hand. "Pff, it's fine, Bri. I'm just going to lay down somewhere."

After bidding (not very formal) goodbyes, Sansa joined the group and they took off to explore the gardens further, Margaery chatting amiably with Lord Snow and Brienne looking back worriedly after Arya, almost ignoring poor Mr. Renly in the process.

"I guess you're stuck with me, then, Miss Sansa?" Loras nudged her on the side, and his accent was way less forced, somehow. He was completely relaxed, and it made her relaxed as well.

"I think the other way around would be much more accurate," Sansa giggled, glad to let her guard down for a while and not talk so formally. "You're stuck with me."

"I don't mind," he shrugged. "You at least listen to what I say. Your sister just nodded and yawned whenever I opened my mouth."

"She's unpolite," she shook her head, embarrassed for her. "I'm sorry."

"I should be the one apologizing," he shook his head, his tone growing a bit less playful. "The way my grandmother and sister treated you during dinner was awful."

She didn't want to think about it, and simply smiled, but it was forced and unnatural. "It's fine."

"We all have difficult family members to deal with," he sighed, trying to change the subject at her obvious discomfort. "Margaery is lovely, but she's a snake."

Sansa almost snorted but covered her mouth with her hand. Loras seemed quite pleased with the reaction though, and he smirked.

"How can you talk about her like that?"

"I love her, but that's the truth," he shrugged again, and that elicited a laugh from her. "My grandmother is worse, though, don't you think?"

"They are nice enough," Sansa simply stated, but there was a playfulness to her tone and smile that hadn’t been there before. Loras raised an eyebrow at her. "And you will not involve me into a scandal, Mr. Tyrell."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he grinned.

"I thought I would come here and be a total pro at all of this," Sansa sighed, still smiling. "But I've made a fool of myself more than once now, and I think your grandmother thinks I'm super cheap."

"You're better than your sister and your friend combined times two, I think," he chuckled. "Maybe you just need a coach."

"You will teach me then?" she giggled. "We probably aren't even supposed to be talking right now."

Somehow Mr. Tyrell managed to lean in closer than before, and when he spoke it was almost a whisper.

"And yet... here we are."

His eyes were green. His eyes were very green. It was the only thing that came to Sansa’s mind then – that and _this is wrong, but…_

Sansa simply cleared her throat as a blush crept up her cheeks, and she smiled at the ground, almost shyly, yet when she was about to respond Mr. Renly's voice interrupted the moment, making her yelp in surprise.

"Miss Stone!" He called again, and Sansa turned around to smile politely at him, still recovering from what had just happened.

"Oh - Mr. Baratheon, I -"

He smiled at her, not unkindly. "Lord Snow and I were just wondering about how the lovely Miss Stone was finding the gardens."

"I was - me and Mr Tyrell were just -" She blinked, trying to stop her beating heart, then remembered they had asked her a question. "Uh, the gardens, ehem. Yes. Very beautiful indeed."

She tried to ignore Lord Snow's up and down disgusted stare (mostly because she wanted to return it with as much disdain, but she had better manners than him and he would not drag her to his level) but was too distracted with the fact she felt like she had been caught red-handed when she was probably at most breaking a small rule, but then Loras gave her a secretive smile, and she felt her pulse quicken again.

"You seem quite red all of a sudden, Miss Stone," Mr. Renly commented. "Maybe you've fallen ill as Miss Stark has."

"Uh, I'm well, I'm just -"

"Is it salmonella? I must know, you're very red, my lady, maybe a strange case of vertigo, perhaps leeches on your feet will -"

"Renly," Lord Snow rolled his eyes, and quickly circled Sansa in what seemed like almost a protective gesture, and Sansa felt her cheeks grow even redder, taken aback by it. "Are you well?"

She simply nodded, still feeling quite startled. "Oh, yes, I'm fine."

 

Then Brienne noticed everyone circling her and almost tackled everyone to the ground trying to see if Sansa was actually ill. It was a long afternoon.

 

Arya walked around the state for a while, and yes, it was beautiful, but it had no wifi, or a fucking TV, and what was a girl even supposed to do around here? Strolling around the gardens would've been fun if she didn't have to do it while wearing a god awful dress and having to pretend to care about a single thing Mr Tyrell had to say, and she didn't. He wasn't... unkind, like his grandmother and sister had been to Sansa, she could grant him that, but he was so  _boring_.

He talked about poetry and dresses and flowers and literally, who cared? Who cared if her “beauty reminds him of the orchids of summer”? Also, what did that even _mean_?

She wanted to take her shoes off and walk around some grass and just live without all those stupid clothes on, and it was barely the second day. How, in the name of the seven hells, Sansa had actually convinced her to join her, she didn't know. How? How did she say yes? Surely it could count as a moment of insanity and clouded judgment.

Still, she was there, and she had to pretend to like it because it had been very, very expensive, and Sansa would, of course, remind her of that for the rest of her life even if she insisted on paying (okay, she wasn't about to spend the ridiculous amount of money she paid, but like, she could contribute with it here and there if she wanted to, and Sansa still said no so that was on her) what she didn't need to do was pretend to like the people there.

Specifically Margaery and Olenna, who had been especially nasty to Sansa. And she and Brienne had some thoughts on them. Ones Sansa would glare at them for.

Arya found herself wandering around the stables when she noticed the driver from the day before - Gendry, she remembered - was preparing saddles and petting horses. She was sure she shouldn't be there, but she didn't care much for rules, especially when Sansa wasn't around to be a pain in the ass. She sneaked up behind him, quiet as a shadow, swifts as a deer, and tapped him on the shoulder, almost making him yelp in surprise.

"Hey," she whispered. "What are you doing?"

"My job," he looked like he couldn't believe that she was talking to him.

"Gendry, isn't it?" When he nodded, she smiled. "I'm Arya."

"I know that," he shook his head. "I also know that we shouldn't be speaking."

Arya frowned. "Why not?"

"Mrs. Tyrell doesn't like it," he simply shrugged and went back to work.

"Yet you still answer my questions."

"Because I have manners," he pointed out, not looking at her.

"We can be friends," she bit her lip. "I just want to speak with someone who doesn't speak like they died a thousand fucking years ago."

"What are you doing here anyway?" Gendry frowned, and now he was actually staring at her for a change. "You don't look like the type. Or your friend."

Arya raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Like you got divorced and you own thirteen cats and you're desperate to feel something again."

"Thanks," she said, unsure if it was a compliment or not. He chuckled a little, which made her smile slightly. "I'm here because my sister forced me to."

"The redhead, right?" She nodded. "She's too pretty for this place."

Arya frowned. "You into my sister, Gendry?" _Of course, he would be - Sansa was gorgeous_. Before he could actually respond, she had already changed the subject. "You're right, though. Mrs. Tyrell and Margaery are awful to her."

"They aren't that bad," he shook his head. "They are probably being mean bec -"

"I'm gonna get back to them because I know Sansa would never. I'm gonna get back to them so _bad_."

That perked his interest. "What are you planning?"

"Brienne and I have a whole plan together, you'll see -"

Sudden footsteps interrupted their conversation, and Gendry quickly went back to work and Arya ran from the stables, in case she was actually breaking any rules, only to find everyone outside, Sansa catting amiably with Loras and Brienne looking relieved to see her well.

"Miss Stark," greeted her Margaery with a smile. "How convenient to run into you!"

Arya nodded, a little caught off guard, "Convenient indeed."

To be fair, everything caught her off guard in that place.

"Me and Lord Snow were discussing the hunting that will take place this afternoon," she smiled at Snow, who, as always, looked as if he wished to be anywhere else. "Of course, your presence is expected, in my grandmother's words."

Arya had to bite her tongue not to groan out loud. Loras and Sansa parted ways (and Sansa seemed to be very upset about that) and he joined her, with his perfect chivalrous smile and _ugh_. She was already dreading the conversation as Margaery approached her as well. Sansa had no option but join Lord Snow, and Arya was cornered by the two Tyrells. 

 

Of course, they weren't actually killing anything, and Sansa was very glad of that fact. The... er, servants? helped them to the most desolated part of the state and placed cardboard figures of deers and animals of the like to shoot at, and they were joined by an instructor and the gentleman who had driven them to the state (Gendry, she remembered her name). Arya seemed quite excited at the prospect of shooting something now, and Brienne looked a little confused, but she didn't complain.

Mrs. Tyrell had chosen to stay back and with her son, who looked like if he were ever near a gun, it would go south quite fast. Margaery didn't seem keen to shooting either, so she just watched them shoot and cheered for them. Sansa was struggling with her gun, and Loras seemed to take notice of this, because he was quickly by her side, holding her arms and positioning her, his presence warm as behind her. Sansa tried not to blush and focus, but it was a very hard task.

"Just have the target on sight," Loras commented, and Sansa blushed even harder, his words vibrating on the skin of her neck. "A little closer, then."

Lord Snow cleared his throat, and just like that, the moment was gone. She flinched rather violently, and Loras simply chuckled. He left her side to join Arya after that, not before winking at her.

She hadn't even noticed Lord Snow was even there.

"Have you ever fired a weapon before?" he asked.

"Not really," she answered. "Brienne - I eh, mean, Miss Tarth has though."

"It doesn't surprise me," he simply said, and Sansa narrowed her eyes at him, not knowing if it was an insult.

Soon enough, someone shouted for them to shoot, and of course, Sansa missed every target, the pistol heavy in her hands, but Brienne hit every single one, and Arya had managed to hit most of them. She bit her lip, embarrassed.

"You're doing it wrong."

Sansa yelped. 

"Mr. Tyrell -"

"Loras isn't good at shooting." He helped position her arms, and somehow it felt more intimate than with Mr. Tyrell, because he was almost... shy, when touching her. Like he wasn't sure. His breath wasn't on her neck, she couldn't feel him in places that wouldn't be absolutely necessary. Sansa thought that, even when he was supposed to be romantic, Lord Snow was cold where others were warm, and she wondered what Olenna had seen in him that made her think Sansa would ever like him. Still, he did manage to better her grip on the gun, and she hit one target, Lord Snow's hand still pressed on her arm.

It made her happy for some reason, and she smiled at Snow in victory, expecting a smile, but he simply nodded and distanced himself from her as quickly as he could, like touching her had almost burnt him.

 

Since the last two days had been filled with rain, Sansa was left to wander around in her room, waiting until supper and for the sun to go down. She could've been spending her time bonding with Lord Snow, but she didn't feel like being insulted at the moment, so she was simply laying down, staring at her baby blue walls, sighing in boredom. She thought about spending time with Brienne, but she was probably busy being wowed by Renly, and she didn't want to interrupt her fun. She had looked around for Arya, but she hadn't found her and she had looked everywhere but the stables. She tried doing something in her (illegally smuggled) phone, but there was no signal in her room and she was scared of using it anywhere else in case she got caught.

She started to pace around her room, a pang of existential guilt settling in her gut. She stared at the kerosene lamp, which was a normal lamp disguised as one. She could barely stand entering the bathroom, seeing the toilet and the bathtub with running water. These small, modern things helped nothing but detaching herself from her fantasy world and realizing all that money she was spending was full wish-fulfillment spending. They were a reminder that she was a grown, twenty-something woman playing dress up. She was too nervous to rest, so she stepped out of her room and made way to the gardens.

She hoped Olenna wouldn't be too displeased with her wandering about, but she supposed she could handle it if she wasn't. It's not like Olenna had been kind to her when she first got there.

Soon enough she was walking around, amongst the bushes and flowers, and she couldn't help but think about her situation, and her mind went unconsciously to Loras and his kind words. He was probably the only person who had treated her decently, probably because he wasn't acting around her. She wondered if Margaery was, though, if those strange and false sweet words were all an act. Lord Snow's awful personality is one as well, she thought, but she still found it annoying, and it wasn't even the hot sort of brooding she had imagined. He was rude for no reason.

Acting was probing itself to be... much harder than she had anticipated. This was her dream, and yet there she was, silently contemplating life and how unsatisfied she seemed to be by the experience. There were moments where she was the happiest girl in the entire world, and yet when she stopped and thought about it, she felt embarrassed and small.

She had ventured a little deep, she noticed. She was quite far off the gardens now, almost at the start of the woods next to the state. She thought about entering them for a stupid moment, and then she turned to head back when she heard something inside of them. A twig breaking, perhaps, but it made her squint. She'd have to head back soon though, the sky had turned grey rather quickly; a storm was coming.

Arya would probably investigate, she thought to herself. But then again, she wasn't Arya, she was smarter than that. Horror movies 101 and all that.

And yet...

She entered the woods, trying to find the source of the noise, and ran into one Lord Snow, looking around the woods for something, and Sansa had to bite back a groan. Just her luck to run into _this guy_ out of every single guy in the state.

"Miss Stone," he greeted, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Her smile was tight. "Hello."

A silence fell over them, their eyes avoiding to meet each other. Jon seemed displeased to be interrupted, and she probably looked equally annoyed to have ran into him. Clearly neither of them wanted to be there, and Sansa cursed her curiosity for taking over her, quickly trying to find an excuse to leave the scene as swiftly as possible.

She came up with an arguably effective one.

"Bye."

But just as she was slipping away, a strenuous thunder made her flinch so badly she almost fell down. Lord Snow was almost as startled as her, but he simply groaned as he felt the first rain drops fall on his hair. Sansa bit her lip, they'd never make it back to the state without the rain catching up to them soon.

"We need to find somewhere to cover quickly," she pointed out. "There's a huge storm coming."

He nodded. "I agree. The storage room is fairly near."

Lord Snow guided them outside of the woods, and by the time they got to the storage cottage (thankfully a modestly big one, she didn't want to think about the prospect of being stuck in a tiny tiny place with the emo lord) the storm was already in full force, and Sansa found herself drenched in water, and the hem of her dress was covered in mud. Lord Snow was in no better state, and his frown seemed even more displeased than the usual one. She was cold, almost shivering, but she was intent on not showing it.

Snow looked at her from the corner of his eye, and his frown softened.

"Do you want my jacket?" he asked.

Sansa tried to not to sound too rude, but she snorted, borderline unladylike. "Yeah, that'd be lovely, but I'm fine."

"You're shivering," He pointed out, like she didn't know.

"I'm -"

He rolled his eyes. "Just take the coat."

Sansa stared at his extended hand, the wet coat in front of her, and took it, feeling herself blush for some reason. She felt warmer the moment she put it on, never mind that it was probably as wet as she was. She scanned the place for a mirror, but came up empty handed. It was probably for the best though, her make up was probably sliding off her face and her hair had come undone, laying flat on both sides of her face, wet. She felt gross.

"I feel absolutely stupid," she sighed.

Snow shifted in his place. "Are you troubled?"

Sansa stared at the ruined skirt of her dress, listening to the rain fall and thinking about how she'd rather Robb was there to make her laugh, but she was stuck with the brooding, humorless man beside her. She fought the urge to sigh again. "I don't know if I can... pretend. Act."

Lord Snow blinked.

"You're serious."

Sansa frowned. "Of course I am."

"You've played your part rather well," was that a compliment? for Lord Snow? _That's gotta be the first one_ , she thought. "... Compared to your sister and friend."

Her frown deepened. "You're going to laugh at me. Wait, no, you wouldn't, because it'd be out of character."

"I'm afraid you're losing me, Miss Stone," he furrowed his brows. Ever the lord.

"You know, I'm trying. I really am! But Mrs. Tyrell is so damn mean to me, and she embarrassed me so badly that first night, and it's been raining like two days out of the month and I paid for this shit and I have a shower and a functioning toilet and the lamps have bulbs in them and... And."

Surprisingly... Lord Snow smiled at her. He had dimples. The sight made him look a little more human, like someone she could actually meet, not just an actor. It caught her a little off guard.

"It is a strange world," he nodded, the small smile fading a bit. That reminded her.

"What were you looking for?" She asked. "In the woods. You were looking for something."

His smile faded completely, and the usual scowl - no, not the usual, this one was pointier, angrier - settled on his face.

"That is none of your concern, Miss Stone."

He turned around from her, facing the falling rain, taking three steps to get as far away from her as possible. Sansa felt her stomach buzz like a bee, embarrassed, and said nothing in return. She wanted to apologize, but... she was tired of apologizing. She was tired of being afraid of making a fool of herself. Lord Snow had been nothing but unkind, rude and nasty to her, just like half of the actors in the manor, and suddenly she found herself silently fuming. She didn't mean to push any buttons with him, but he had done nothing but push her buttons since she got there four days ago.

They remained in silence until the last raindrop fell.

 

Of course, the moment she stepped into the manor, Mrs. Tyrell had plenty to say. Sansa simply stood there, drenched in rain, and took it until Brienne had to physically hold Arya back. She was glad to just be somewhere warm again though, and the moment Mrs. Tyrell was done telling her off, retired to her chambers and took a long, well deserved warm bath, washing away the mud and the rain off her skin.

She figured she'd wear something pretty for dinner that night, trying to find a little joy in the evening when she was feeling none. She dressed in her prettiest, less ratty looking dress (a pale blue one with a nice neckline). It was hard to distinguish between the two worlds - the made up, old Jane Austen one and the modern, running water one - but when Sansa put on a nice dress the existential dread left her gut and the only thing in her mind was _I'm a_   _princess!_ (You know, like a regular twenty-something person).

After dinner Sansa was in the drawing room, while Arya was chatting with Brienne about the hunting and how amazing it had been to shoot again, Renly and Loras sneaking as many compliments as they could in a conversations they clearly weren't included on, and she was staring at her embroideries, stomach full of dinner, silently dreading the fact she needed to play courtesies yet again. Luckily Lord Snow was busy with Miss Margaery, who talked and talked and talked, and somehow managed to make him engage more than usual. 

"You're kinder than usual, Lord Snow," Margaery had said. "The rain refreshed your spirits, did it not?"

Sansa saw him look at her from the corner of her eye, but it was so quick she might have imagined it.

"Hardly."

Sansa huffed, biting her tongue in case a comment slipped out. How dare he? He had snapped at her. She hadn't meant to be unkind, but he left her no room to apologize either. And it's not like she owed him one! He had been rude first. She could be rude back at him if she wanted.

Suddenly, her eyes met Loras' for a brief second, and her anger almost dissipated in his green stare. He held it for a moment, smiled, and whispered something to Arya, retiring himself from the room. Sansa bit her lip, and as Loras was leaving the room, he signaled at her to follow him outside. She felt her cheeks grow red.

She thought about it, for a second. She didn't want Mrs. Tyrell to reprimand her again like a little girl for escaping socializing, and she didn't want to seem ungrateful or anything but... _Ah, fuck it._

She made a quick excuse about not feeling quite well and left the drawing room. It looked like Brienne wanted to ask her if she was okay, but she simply shrugged it off and told her she wanted to rest. She could almost feel Lord Snow's gaze as well, for some reason she couldn't really understand. In any case, Loras was waiting for her just outside, and he smiled at the sight of her, and her heart started yelling at the sight.

"I want to show you something."

He guided her along the corridors, whispering and giggling at their escapade, crossing paths with some unamused servants who seemed like they were tired of it all. She felt like a princess, like Romeo & Juliet, running around, hiding and drunk in the feeling of his hand in hers, his touch light. It felt like she was on a fairytale.

Finally, he stopped at the ballroom, where she had danced that first night, and she felt herself smile, staring at the beautiful designs and decorations.

"What are we doing here?" She giggled, a little breathless from running.

"I saw you were bored out of your mind," he shrugged. "I wanted to help."

"So you brought me to the ballroom because..."

"Because I wanna show you this," and then he pulled out a damn IPod.

"Oh my God!" She whispered. "Mrs. Tyrell is gonna kill you!"

"She's my grandmother, she won't do anything to me," he rolled his eyes, but she had a feeling that was not true at all. Olenna was ruthless. Suddenly, his hand was in front of her. "Do you want to dance?"

Sansa felt herself blush a deep crimson, but then Loras' started playing WMCA, and she broke into uncontrollable giggles that had Loras shushing her in between dance moves. This was nice, better than spending time under the rain talking or living a Jane Austen romance. This was real. This wasn't an act. When he put his hand on the small of her back, it felt _real. ****_ ****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it kind of looks like im setting up for marg and olenna to be villains, but marg and olenna stans STICK WITH ME not everything is what it seems!!!! ok thank u xoxo  
> also this last season............. no words...... what did u guys think??  
> feedback is always amazing and i love it!!!


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